The Queen's Treasure
by Poison Ivory
Summary: Helga. Arnold. Perilous Quest. Good Guys. Bad Guys. Mysteries. Ancient Treasure. The Devil. Mary Sue. Cults. Priests. And, if you're lucky, a little nookie. Chapter Four is up! Do me a favor, don't click on those email addys...they're not real...I hope.
1. Dream

Author's Note: Yes, I know it's been eons, but I'm really working on this!  Anyway, I'm re-formatting it to be all prettyful and html-y, so…yeah.  If you haven't come across this before, it's the sequel to Missing Pieces, my first HA fanfic ever…it's probably not absolutely necessary to read MP first, but it's definitely helpful…otherwise you just might be incredibly confused at parts of this.  Anyway, enjoy! Part I: Dream 

            Helga was lost.

            Everything around her was gold.  Glittering, shining gold dunes, rising and shifting beneath her feet, the hot sand offering her scorched limbs no purchase.  She tumbled to her knees again and again, rising to continue doggedly onward.  The sky above was burned pale yellow by the sun, which was nothing but a white glare and so hot Helga was sure it had pulled the Earth closer in its orbit.  Her throat was parched, her skin rubbed raw from the sand-filled winds.

            She fell once more, and found that she could not get up.  Lying on her side, she felt her skin baking hard and brittle.  She was letting go, giving in…

            Arnold.  Where was Arnold?

            She tried to call his name out, but her throat was too dry, and all that emerged was a hoarse croak.  Using what little moisture she had left, she wetted her lips and tried again.

            "Arnold…" she breathed.  It was getting harder to take in air, as her lungs withered and died.

            A pair of gold eyes fixed on her.  She tried to hide, to shrink away, but she couldn't even move.

            "Arnold…"

            Something dark reached for her…Helga felt a tug on her soul.

            "Arnold!"

            Helga's eyes snapped open.  She was lying in the cool darkness of her tent, staring up at the canvas roof.  Arnold's concerned face hove into her field of vision.

            "Are you all right?" he asked.  "You were having a bad dream."

            Helga shivered as the effects of her cold sweat set in.  "Arnold…it was awful…" she rasped, starting to break down.  She felt feverish, remembering the heat of her dream.

            His eyes went soft with pity, and he pulled her into his arms.  "Shh…it's okay…I'm here…" he murmured, rocking her gently.  He kissed her forehead, holding her close.  "It's okay, sweetie."

            Helga let him hold her, relishing the comforting hand that she had never had as a child.  Yes, she was reconciled with her parents now—thanks to Arnold—but that couldn't give her everything she had missed in childhood.  Including someone to comfort her after she woke from a nightmare.

            It was silent outside.  Apparently Curly and Raoul and the others hadn't been woken by her panic—which was good.  Helga was only just learning how to open up to Arnold, the man she had loved since she was a pigtailed preschooler—letting her other friends in on her various vulnerabilities was not something she was willing to do, at least not right now.

            Besides, they needed their sleep.  Slogging across the desert day after day, searching for lost Egyptian treasures, following Arnold's map to the fabled Lotus of Nefertiti, certainly took its toll on all of them.  Usually Helga slept so deeply she didn't dream at all, much less suffer through vivid nightmares.

            Arnold sensed she was calmer, and pulled back so as to be able to look at her.  "Do you want to tell me what it was about?" he asked gently.

            Helga looked away.  She remembered everything vividly—the hot, barren desert, the dark shape reaching for her, the piercing gold eyes seeing straight into her soul—and yet she couldn't express why it had infused such abject terror into her, why it had petrified her so.  So she lied.

            "I…don't remember," she told him, meeting his eyes.  He looked levelly at her, and she wasn't sure, in the darkness, if he could tell she was lying or not.

            "Okay," he said after a long minute.  "Can you go to sleep now?"

            She nodded.  They lay down, Arnold turning to face away from her.  She wanted to reach out to him, to bring back their usual closeness, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.  She felt low, dirty, unworthy.

            Helga wasn't sure what was wrong with her.  She hadn't lied to Arnold in…well, months.  Since she had confessed that she loved him.  Maybe she had lied to herself, but not to him.  But something told her to keep this to herself, to leave him innocent of what was disturbing her for at least a very little while longer.  She curled up into the fetal position, letting a few hot tears slip from beneath her lashes, feeling more distant from Arnold than she had since the six years they had been separated.

            A long arm snaked out and pulled her close.  She smiled through her tears, burying her face gratefully into Arnold's shoulder.

            She did not deserve him.


	2. Climb

Part II: Climb 

            The next day, like most in the vast and uncompromising desert, dawned dry, hot, and sunny.  The light soon would burn off the coolness of the night, and it was for that reason that Arnold's party got moving as quickly as possible, while the sun had just barely risen.  Better to travel in the relative cool of the early morning than later, when the sun got a little higher in the sky.

            The nine of them—Arnold, Helga, Curly, Raoul, and five natives—made good time, and were nearly at the place Arnold wanted them to be by noon, when it started to get really hot.  Arnold and Curly discussed their plans as they rode; Raoul maintained his stoic silence.  Helga, who would usually be in the thick of any conversation, pooh-poohing foolish ideas and cracking jokes, teasing Arnold and Curly, complaining about the sun and urging on her lazy camel, rode behind the three men, pensive and quiet.

            Arnold felt uneasy.  Something was wrong, and he had a feeling it had to do with her nightmares.  He also had a feeling she wasn't telling him the whole truth about not being able to remember them.  But what could he do?  That was what he got for falling in love with Helga Pataki, after all…you couldn't pry a straight answer out of her in a million years if she wasn't willing to tell.  It was all right.  If she didn't want to tell him about the dreams, she didn't have to.  But something about her behavior, and the dreams themselves, was making him squirm.

            For now, he left her alone and concentrated on their search.  After all he had been through already for the Lotus of Nefertiti, he was not about to miss it because he was daydreaming about his girlfriend.  He thought back to the directions on the scroll, the map that he had found that would lead him to Egypt's greatest treasure.  The ridges should be in sight soon…

            There they were.  High rocky cliffs looming in the distance, an anomaly in this strange land.  He led the caravan towards them, speeding up slightly, eager to get to the tempting shade of the cliffs.  His heartbeat quickened.  If his map had been correct, and if memory served as it should—and Arnold had no reason to believe that either the map or his memory would fail him—he was very close to unearthing a treasure the likes of which had never before been seen.  This was the equivalent of discovering Atlantis, or King Arthur's tomb.  The Lotus of Nefertiti was buried in half-legend, half-fact, so that many archaeologists, men and women who were older and less idealistic than Arnold, didn't believe in it.  But Arnold believed, and now—hopefully—his faith would stand him in good stead.

            They reached the shelter of the cliffs and Arnold gave the order to set up camp.  He tried to rest, to catch his breath and settle his racing mind, but he was too excited.

            "You can start lunch going, if you like," he told his companions.  "I've got to climb up there and check it out."

            Helga spoke for the first time in hours.  "What are you looking for?" she asked.

            He shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  I think this is the spot—that's what my map says.  Apparently, and this is the closest I could come—the translation's not exact—it said, 'Ruminate in sun and you will see the way.'  So I'll go up there, while the sun's still bright, and see what I can see."

            Helga looked up at the high, nearly insurmountable cliffs.  They extended in either direction, too far to go around, and reared up about a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty, feet.

            "I'm going with you," she said decisively.

            Arnold shook his head.  "Absolutely not.  It's too dangerous."

            "Exactly," she grinned, more like her old self than she had been all day.  "That's why I'm going with you.  Somebody's gotta look after you."

            Curly spoke up.  "If you two are going, I'm going too," he declared.

            Raoul lumbered up and held up a hand.  He was volunteering, too.

            Helga shook her head.  "No, somebody has to stay here and watch the camp.  Besides, you're not built for climbing.  You're too big."

            Arnold put his hands on his hips.  "Who's in charge of this expedition, you or me?"

            She looked surprised.  "You, of course.  But I'm in charge of you."  She kissed him on the forehead, grinning at his disgruntled face, and started digging in a pack for ropes.  "Well, are we going to wait around until we get old, or are we gonna go?"

            Well, when you put it that way…

            Arnold gave in, as Helga had known he would.  It was strange—she had worshipped him blindly for two decades, and it was he who was wrapped around her little finger.  She loved him unconditionally, of course, and she had complete faith in him—but she had a sense of needing to be there to take care of him that was not going to allow her to let him make this climb alone.

            She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she strapped herself into a harness and pulled on a pair of strong climbing gloves.  He was unbearably handsome, enough to make her weak at the knees if she let him—so she didn't.  Not now.  The hot desert sun had painted him all bronze and gold, and his cat's eyes shone green and honest from his determined face.  He had matured, too (though he had never seemed all that young), since she had known him as a child—torture, privation, and heartache could do that to a person.  She had always looked up to him as a sort of god…but now he was a man, and that was infinitely more important.

            He finished fastening his harness and looked at her.  "Ready?"

            "I am!" Curly replied exuberantly, bounding up.  Ah, Curly.  Their trusted pilot and companion, far removed from the days of his crayon-eating youth.  Well, not that far removed—Curly had been the crazy one in school, and wasn't much different now.  Here, however, his lunacy served them in good stead, and had saved all their lives on more than one occasion.  Helga had been surprised that he had joined their little "mission," although she probably shouldn't have been—he was the sort who was always looking for another adventure.  Like her.  They were kindred souls, Helga and Curly.

            They strung a rope through their harnesses, getting ready for the climb.  The cliff was good for it, with plenty of handholds and ledges to rest on.  They started off with bounding enthusiasm, Helga sandwiched in between Arnold and Curly.  She rankled a little bit at this—she knew that they were trying to catch her if she fell, but she knew she was just as good a climber as either of them, if not better.  Oh, well.  She supposed it didn't matter.

            Each was equipped with a grappling hook, which they would fling upwards, searching for a secure handhold.  Then they would pull themselves up carefully by the grappling hook's rope.  It was slow going, as Helga, who was the lightest and fastest, had to wait for Arnold and Curly to make their way upwards, due to the shortness of the rope joining them.  The cliffs faced the west, so the further the sun moved in the sky, the less shade they had, and Helga felt a trickle of sweat running down her collar before long.  Her muscles strained as she pulled herself up, and she paused briefly to wipe her damp forehead.

            She took a brief rest, waiting for her companions.  Curly caught up to her in a few seconds and the two of them turned to wait for Arnold.

            Arnold saw that Helga and Curly were waiting for him and tried to climb faster.  In his haste, he missed his handhold.  His fingers slipped, and he fell down the rock face, his torso scraping against it as he scrabbled madly for somewhere to hold on to.

            Helga scream was torn away from her as the tug on their rope caught her breath.  She braced herself as the rope arrested Arnold's fall, stopping him from certain death on the ground some fifty feet below.

            Arnold hung on the rope, catching his breath and trying to steady his racing heart before tackling the cliff again.  Moving slowly this time, he made his way up level to Helga and Curly.

            He nodded towards a ledge a little ways above their heads.  "Let's take a break there," he suggested.  Curly and Helga nodded, and the three of them make for the lip of it.

            Once they were relatively safe on their feet, Helga threw herself into Arnold's arms.  "You stupid…stupidhead!" she berated him, kissing him fiercely.  "Be more careful next time!"

            Arnold sighed, relaxing a little under Helga's familiar loving tirade.  "I don't know," he teased.  "A guy could get used to this kind of attention."

            Helga gave him once last kiss and released him.  "Well, if you pull a stunt like that one more time, you'll be getting attention from an undertaker."

            He pulled out a canteen, taking a gulping the cool water gratefully.  "Believe me, I didn't intend to pull that one."

            They sat there in the dwindling shade, taking a well-needed rest, until Arnold jumped to his feet again.

            "Okay, let's go, troops," he said cheerfully.  "The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll be up there."

            Helga and Curly got up, their energy restored, and began to climb again.  It was harder going than before.  They were all tired, despite their rest, and the handholds were smaller and weaker up here.  Plus, any glance down from this height made them all dizzy.

            They were only about twenty feet from the top when it happened.  Curly's fingers, damp with sweat, slipped out of his glove.  He hung dangling from one hand, trying to pull himself back up, but his exhausted muscles gave out, and he plummeted as his footholds crumbled beneath his boots.  His grappling hook was yanked out by his fall, and it struck his head as he fell, knocking him senseless.

            Helga was not ready for the sudden tug on her waist, and Curly's fall unbalanced her.  With a cry of terror, she was swept off her feet, down towards the distant ground.

            Her cry warned Arnold.  He braced himself, taking up the slack as both Helga and Curly's weight pulled on him.  He dug his fingers into the rock face as best he could, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep himself from falling along with them.  Veins stood out on his neck and shoulders as he strained, but he couldn't keep this up long, let alone pull his companions up.

            Helga hung by her waist, her heart pounding.  Sweat ran down her back and collected along her hairline.  Several beads broke away, dripping into her eyes and blinding her with stinging pain.

            She didn't need sight to hear the rope above her begin to snap.  Helga's mind shot into panic mode.  What to do, what to do…Curly was dead weight on her, Arnold wasn't strong enough to pull them both up, or even stay like this, and she couldn't see a thing, plus the rope was snapping.  Think, Helga, think!  She'd been in worse fixes before, she knew.  There had to be a way out of this, but…

            An inkling of a plan began to worm its way into Helga's consciousness.  She clamped down on it, searching for a solution.  There it was!

            As an idea formed in her mind, the rope parted completely, sending Helga and Curly plummeting to their doom, Arnold watching helplessly from above.


	3. Logan

Part III: Logan 

            Helga jerked upright, clamping her mouth shut just in time.  They would never reach her—she was too proud to scream!

            As her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her, she remembered where she was.  She was not plummeting to her doom from the face of a massive cliff.  She wasn't even in Egypt.  She was in Scotland, which was about as far removed from the desert as she could imagine.

            Her heart rate slowing, Helga wiped clammy sweat from her brow, trying to quell the pounding in her head.  A nightmare within a nightmare…just the concept was terrifying.  If this went on, how would she ever know whether she was awake or asleep?

            But the dreams were not habitual, she reminded herself.  Only in her dream did nightmares haunt her every night.  Usually she slept soundly, safe from whatever horrifying thoughts lurked in her scarred—but healing—subconscious.

            She tried to make sense of her dreams.  She had been dreaming, and Arnold had woken her…and she had lied to him.  She had kept something from him, which she was trying not to do, though old habits died hard.  And then they had been climbing, and falling…the images were fading away, though she knew they had been crystal clear in her dream.  Both dreams.

            Crimeny!  Thinking like that would drive her insane.  Sighing, she flopped back down on the sheets, which were pleasantly cool to her feverish body.  Oh, well.  Dreams meant very little in the real world, and less if she couldn't even remember them.  She knew her logic was faulty, but she was notoriously stubborn.

            It was interesting, though, that she had shared a bed with Arnold in her dream.  Though they'd declared their love for one another months ago, they hadn't moved past chaste kisses, albeit frequent ones.  Neither one was inclined to push it.  It wasn't that either of them were virgins—Helga especially was hardly the blushing flower—and they certainly desired one another…but the right time simply hadn't come yet.  After waiting for two decades for Arnold's love, Helga could wait as long as necessary for the physical expression of that love.  Still, in her dream…

            Enough thinking of the dream already!  To distract herself, Helga gazed around her room.  It was tiny, but nice, with the small, rickety bed dominating most of the room.  A small vanity was positioned beneath the low window that looked out onto the rolling green hills of the country, and a comfortable rocking chair was placed in a corner.  That was all.

            It was little enough, but Helga liked it.  She liked this country, or as much of it as she had seen since they'd arrived that afternoon.  The grimy press of civilization hadn't quite covered all of it, and the lush green countryside gave her the brisk and pleasant feeling of using a brand-new bar of soap.  The people at the inn had been extremely helpful and kind, going out of their way to make sure Helga and Arnold had everything they needed.

            At first Helga had been slightly annoyed that they had to go so far out of their way.  They were visiting an old friend of Arnold's parents, his mother's mentor…what was his name again?  Finn.  Logan Finn.  A widely-known archaeologist in his time, according to Arnold and his mother, Katie—Helga didn't pretend to know much of anything about archaeology.

            Anyway, Finn seemed to be the man to talk to if you were looking for a priceless legendary Egyptian artifact, which Arnold was.  And so Helga and Arnold had boarded a plane and flown to Scotland to see him.  But Finn lived in some rural hamlet, far removed from any airport, so they had driven part of the way to his town the first day, stayed at an inn that night, and would drive the rest of the way in the morning.

            As far as Helga was concerned, she was merely along for the ride—and to keep a watchful eye on Arnold.  She thought of her dream, and shuddered.  She wasn't really sure where she stood on the Lotus, however.  Most who were "in the know" in the archaeological community didn't really believe in the Lotus, or if they did, it was vaguely, as something meant to remain shrouded in legend and myth and so not even worth looking for.  But Arnold had found a map telling him where to go, and he was dead set on finding the Lotus, even if he didn't have the map anymore.  And Helga would follow him.

            It wasn't like following him did _her_ any harm, at any rate.  She was a poet—she could write on the road.  She always had before.  And there was nowhere she'd rather be than with Arnold.

            In fact, for the first time in her life, she was happy in more than brief flashes.  She'd had a tormented childhood, a turbulent adolescence, and a lonely adulthood…until Arnold had come back into her life.  (Or been thrown bodily back into it, as the case may be.)  And the days after their reunion had been mostly filled with trying very hard not to die.  But after that…it was her and Arnold, together, and it was bliss.

            And so she tried to shake off the tiny bit of worry that ate away at her mind.  Nothing was going to happen to Arnold.  She would make sure of that.  And nothing was going to happen to her, because if she was with Arnold, and nothing was happening to him, what could happen to her?

            True, it made no sense.  But after her nightmares, Helga wasn't sure which way was up anymore.  So she tried to shake off the worry.

            _Tried_ being the operative word.

            Sleep and Helga Pataki didn't find each other easily that night.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

            Logan Finn was a grizzly, broad-shouldered man who resembled a larger and less severe Sean Connery.  Though he was in at least his late seventies and his hair and beard were as white as snow, a soft of defiant strength twinkled from his steel gray eyes.  His jaw was still powerful; his nose had been broken at least twice; his thick brogue was peppered with profanity.  Helga liked him immediately.

            "Well, lad, I'm sure ye get tired of hearin' this so often, but ye're the feckin' spittin' image of yer father," Logan said as they sat in the small, cozy living room.  "But ye've got yer mother's eyes."

            Arnold beamed, the way he always did when someone mentioned his parents.  He still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that the mother and father he had accepted as dead were really alive, were really there.  Helga squeezed his hand, delighting in his joy.  God, what a sap she was turning out to be.

            "Yer mother tells me that ye've found the Map of the Pharaohs," Logan continued.

            Arnold nodded.  "Yes, sir."

            Logan growled good-naturedly.  "I told ye once, lad, don't be callin' be sir.  Makes me feel old."  He paused.  "Which I am, but that's not the point."  His eyes lit up as he leaned forward.  "What did the map say?"

            Arnold's eyes lit up, recognizing a kindred spirit, as he began to talk.  Helga tried hard to listen to the conversation, but much of it was esoteric and obscure, and some of it was in another language.  Helga didn't kid herself—she was no dummy, but this was not something a poet would understand without having studied archaeology once.

            She was dozing off on Arnold's shoulder when Logan's laugh startled her back into the present.  "Oh, lass, we must be borin' ye to tears.  I'm a right ass, I am."

            "No, no, I'm really interested," Helga said, putting on her "interested" face.  Arnold laughed, too.

            "For such a good liar, that was just pathetic," he teased.  Helga stuck out her tongue at him, not letting him see how much the words stung.  How could he know about her dream?

            "Well, at least I don't have a stupid football head," she retorted, reverting to the little girl she had once been.

            "Well, at least I don't have a unibrow," he replied with a smirk.  She let out a mock gasp of indignation.

            "I do _not_ have a unibrow!…anymore.  I don't have to sit here and take this kind of abuse!"

            Arnold shrugged.  "Okay, then, stand up and take it."

            Helga got to her feet.  "You're just jealous because you don't _have_ any eyebrows."  She struggled to hide a smile, enjoying this twist on their childhood squabbles.  "I'm going to get some sun.  Bye, Mr. Finn."  She ruffled Arnold's hair affectionately as she passed him, going out the door.

            "Call me Logan!" the older man yelled after her, but it was drowned out by Arnold's louder cry.

            "_I do TOO have eyebrows!_"

            Helga laughed as she exited the house.  The sun on her face was pleasantly warming, and birds were singing somewhere in the distance.  Swiping a daisy from the grass, she sat down on a bench at the bottom of Logan's walk and gazed out at the tiny hamlet before her.  It was technically too small to be called a town, and she could see almost all of it from where she sat.  Collendale Hamlet boasted a bakery, a butcher, a post office and stationary store, a doctor's office that doubled as Collendale Hospital, a tiny school, a bookstore, and an inn.  A side street led off the main one she was looking at, where she supposed there were more shops and the rest of the houses.

            She liked it here, with all its quiet tranquility.  It was startling to realize that she couldn't find a McDonalds, a Blockbuster, _or_ a Starbucks for miles around.  She was suddenly seeing a place that was completely different than the city she'd grown up in, the cities around the world that she frequented on book tours.  She'd always gone to cities, perhaps hoping that the hustle and bustle surrounding her would drown out the sound of her own loneliness, but it never had.

            Now that she had Arnold, though…  She thought idly that this would be a wonderful place to raise children.  A flock of children racing by her punctuated that thought nicely.  They looked about eight or nine, and were chasing a soccer ball joyfully up and down the street.  There were only one or two cars, nothing to interrupt their games the way the stickball games in Brooklyn had always been interrupted.  Helga suddenly felt a little jealous.

            She twirled the daisy between her fingertips, watching the town.  A woman with a baby on each arm exited the bakery, a small child holding an armful of bread behind her.  Two teenage boys raced up the street; a group of girls, all about twelve years old, giggled in front of the post office.  A man in a dark suit settled onto a chair outside of the inn with a newspaper.

            Helga smiled to herself and glanced down at the daisy in her hand.  Remembering how she used to destroy entire beds of flowers this way, she began to pluck the petals off, one by one.  _He loves me, he loves me not…_

            She beamed as the white petals fluttered to the ground.  She needed no prophetic flower to tell her what she already knew.  Arnold loved her, completely and utterly, and she loved him.  Still, she continued, soon running out of petals.

            "He loves me," she sang quietly.  "He loves me not.  He loves me.  He loves me…not?"

            She was out of petals.

            Quickly, she threw the flower to the ground.  It was just a stupid childish game.  It didn't mean anything.  She _knew_ that, but at the same time she couldn't help wondering if this might be some sort of omen.

            _What is wrong with you, Pataki?_ she demanded of herself angrily.  _Why can't you just let yourself be happy without worrying that someone's going to take it away?_

_            Because someone always has,_ she answered herself, her heart sinking.  Even now, when she was with Arnold, and happy, she couldn't help feeling that doom was right around the corner, might even now be standing over her and—

            "You must be Helga."

            Helga jerked her head up.  Someone _was_ standing there—a very pretty, delicate, redheaded somebody.

            "_Lila?_"

            The girl before her took a step back, wrinkling her flawless brow in confusion.  "I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone.  My name is Anna."  Her British and ever-so-slightly Scottish accent was charming.

            Helga stood up.  "Sorry, you looked just like…like somebody I knew growing up."  _Somebody Arnold was head over heels for almost as long as I was in love with him._  Then she realized something.  "How…how did you know my name?"

            Anna laughed.  Her laugh was like a bubbling brook, tripping over stones.  "My grandfather told me you would be here.  You and…Arnold, is that his name?  Kate's son?"

            Helga nodded.  "My boyfriend," she said emphatically, although she really wasn't sure why she was stressing it.  Surely this Anna person didn't have designs on Arnold!  Still, she felt resentful, and on edge.

            It didn't help that Anna was exactly like every girl Arnold had ever had a crush on.  She was petite and as delicate as a bird, making Helga feel like a great, hulking ogre.  Her skin was pale, flawless, set off by the curtains of copper hair tumbling around her angelic face.  Her eyes were wide-spaced and a level, sensible gray; her nose had just the tiniest bit of a tilt.  When she smiled, which was often, Helga could see perfect, gleaming white teeth, and her voice was musical.

            The girl was a goddamn Madonna.  Helga suddenly felt very plain and awkward.  She struggled to find something to say.  "Logan's your grandfather?"

            Anna smiled.  Helga hated it when she did that.  "Yes.  Incorrigible, isn't he?  But I love him.  He's done so much for me…sent me to school to study archaeology, taught me every thing he knows…"

            Hold up.  "You're an archaeologist?" Helga asked.

            Anna nodded.  "It's my greatest passion."

            Well, she was sunk.  Helga might as well go home right now.  Five minutes after Arnold met this one they'd be picking out china patterns together.  With flowers on them.  And bluebirds.

            Anna held up a bag.  "I'd better get this inside before it melts.  Grandfather loves ice cream, and I thought I'd get some for all of us.  We can have it with the cake I baked this morning."

            Helga was hating her more and more every second.

            And she hated her the most when Arnold's eyes lit appreciatively on Anna's slender form as the two women entered the living room.  Logan beamed.

            "Anna!  Ye're back," he said obviously.  "I'd like ye to meet Arnold, my Katie's son.  I take it ye've already met Helga?"

            Anna nodded, shaking hands with Arnold as he stood up to greet her, ever the gentleman.  "Wow, you look just like someone I used to know," he said, clearly appraising her perfect auburn hair and her perfect pearly teeth.

            "Don't tell me—Lila?" Anna guessed.

            "Well, yes…but how did you know?"

            "Helga mentioned it," Anna replied, with a friendly smile in Helga's direction.  Helga knew the smile she returned was horribly fake, but she really didn't care.

            "Well, let's eat that feckin' ice cream before it feckin' melts," Logan suggested, standing and leading the way into the kitchen.  Anna followed cheerily, spreading sunshine where she walked.  Next was Arnold, and finally a very glum Helga.

            As they passed through the door, Arnold pulled Helga aside briefly.  "I have to tell you something," he whispered.  "A secret."

            "What?" she replied, her voice hushed.  What could he possibly have to tell her that was so important?

            He brought his ears so close to her ear that she shivered pleasantly.  His voice was barely audible.

"I love you."

He stepped back, grinning amiably at her, and headed into the kitchen.  Helga followed, her step lighter.

She suddenly felt much better. 

You all hate and despise me now, don't you?  You _loathe_ me.  I dropped them off a cliff, made you wait for…forever…(if you look around, you'll see a lot of flying pigs and chickens with lips) and it was a dream!  You can flame me if you want, I deserve it.

In my defense, however…inspiration on this just ran away to some tiny hole and bubbled, and I had no idea what to do.  I would open the file on my computer and STARE at it, hoping that something would leak out onto the keyboard.  (That sounded amazingly gross.)  But nothing did…until my break through.

Yes, there _is_ a reason for the climb, and the dream, and just about everything else that's happened so far.  And I know this is kind of a boring chapter, but it sets up a LOT.  So please don't kill me…please?

Charisma: I won't pretend to be an expert in the whole rock-climbing biz, but I've done a little, and yes, I know there wouldn't be ropes and grappling hooks and just general unprofessional-ness there, but I _do_ have a reason for it, okay?  Trust me.  I know it's OOC for Arnold, but…well, first of all, now you know it was a dream (and how much does Helga's subconscious know about rock climbing) but…well, there's another reason.  I promise.

DropsofJupiter: Ooh, Straining!Arnold.  Damn.  Yes, that is a hot picture.  It's okay, you and me can start our We-Think-Fictional-Accounts-of-the-Description-of-a-Nine-Year-Old-Cartoon-Character-With-A-Football-Shaped-Head-Are-Hot Club.  I wasn't seeing too many veins popping out there, though.  (Lol, like a big, throbbing one on his forehead…like Howie from Backstreet Boys…yes, recovering BSB addict, right here…but the vein was funny!)

fuu-chan: Step away from the wall…okay.  Careful.  I think I'm liable in the event of injury.  And I have no dinero.

Houkanno Yuuhou: Awesome names for your Sims, lol.  Yes!  You're a procrastinator!  You have joined my race!  Maybe you can also join me and DropsofJupiter's oh-so-exclusive club…

Stace: I think if they had cut Curly off, he might have bounced.  Knowing him.  Lol.

miss amyami: I gave you your book back!  (Hopefully for a while…)

Snow Lane: Yeah, I probably should change their names…but I won't.  Cuz it's hard.  And I'm lazy.  And I really don't like the name Stella.  But thanks for the heads-up!

Thanks to everyone else for reviewing!  I hope you all don't hate me now…

-PI


	4. Watched

Author's Note: Warning!  Sucky chapter up ahead!  Warning!  I must apologize for this.  I left you all high and dry and I return with this piece of crap, but since I've been staring at this computer screen for three hours instead of going to my nice soft bed like I wanted to, don't flame me too badly.  I'm also sorry about Home For Christmas…I know I said I'd finish it in time for Christmas, but what I didn't know then was that I actually meant next Christmas, because I realized while sitting in the airport on Christmas Eve, that I had about 37 more chapters to go…so that'll be out at random intervals, like this 'un and Always…I figure that's acceptable, because one of the most amazing fics on this site, A Christmas Present for Arnold (by Cosmic Dreamer) was supposed to be finished last Christmas…yeah. 

Anyway, so this chapter _does_ set up stuff and has fun action-type suspense-type goodness at the end…so it's not all bad.  And there was _no way_ I could make it any longer than this, _but_…but the next chapter (which I have already started work on) will be longer and full of StoryTelling!Arnold, EvilBitch!Helga (come on, you know you love her) and everyone's favorite Mary Sue, Anna.

So without further ado…

Part IV: Watched 

To: [phjohanssen@ecolab.com][1]

From: [poetesspataki@cbworld.com][2]

Re: My Worst Nightmare

Hey Pheebs-

            AUGH!  Help me!  I'm in deeeep trouble.  Okay, so you know how we went to see that guy Logan Finn, Katie's mentor, in Scotland?  Well, he's great, and I love Scotland, and all that, but his granddaughter…ergh.  You remember Lila?  Yeah.  Well, give her a British accent and a passion for archaeology, and that's her.  Anna.  Ugh.  She's just so pretty, and nice, and intelligent, and bubbly…it makes me want to smack her in the face with a large hammer.  I don't _think_ Arnold is attracted to her, but maybe…  I dunno.  I just…I guess I'm worried that he'll realize what a colossal mistake it is being with _me_ when he could have Little Miss Muffet over here.

            Yeah, I know you, you'll just say I'm being neurotic, and maybe I am.  But you're the doctor…don't I have the perfect setup for a neurotic, or something?  Overachieving sister and all that?  Enh—like I said, you're the doctor.  I know about rhyme and meter and good champagne.

            But anyway, here's the _really_ awful news.  So we're sitting around the dinner table eating desert (of course _Anna_ baked a cake) and Arnold's talking all gung-ho about his quest for the Lotus and whatnot, and Anna gives this really _wistful_ sigh, and goes, "Wow, I'd just _love_ to go looking for something like that.  It sounds so _thrilling_."  And Arnold, that moron, goes, "Well, you're welcome to come with us.  I could use another real archaeologist.  Helga here couldn't care less."

            And of course I kicked him and said "Arnold, dear, that's not entirely true," but then Logan got this look in his eyes and was all like "It _would_ be good experience for you, Anna," and Anna was all like "Oh, no, I couldn't impose," but I saw through _that_ little act in a New York minute—yeah right, couldn't impose unless it'll get you closer to _my man_—and Arnold's like, "So why not join us?  Come on, it'll be fun!  Right, Helga?"

            And then everyone looks at me, and what am I supposed to say, right?  So I'm like, "Uh…yeah.  It'll be great.  There'll be…sand and, um…stuff."  Real eloquent.  And Anna does this fetching little blush and goes, "Well, thank you so much, I'd love to come," and Logan and Arnold are all chipper about it and I excused myself to go to the bathroom but I actually went outside and kicked some rocks and now not only am I _severely_ pissed off but my toe hurts and I think there's blood collecting under the nail.  You'll have to look at it when I get home.

            So now the Fairy Princess is joining me and Arnold on our little quest, here.  Yippee.  She's packing now, because our flight to Egypt is tomorrow.  Arnold and Logan are talking about some archaeologist stuff and talking in hieroglyphics or something, so I took my laptop over to the inn across the street.  You would not believe how tiny this town is.  The population is, like, twelve.  But it's very pleasant here, and so _green_…  I think I may move to Scotland.  That way, not only will I be in a beautiful country all the time, but I'll have ample opportunity to push Anna Banana here off of a fell or a dale or something.

            Anyway, enough about me.  How's everything with you?  What happened to that patient, the one with the cat that you were telling me about?  Did Gerald get the promotion?  And did you tell him that you think you're pregnant yet?

            I may not be able to get mail for a while, but I'll try.  Don't be _too _worried if you don't hear from me.  I know how my correspondence is the highlight of your day, lol.  (Why do I use "lol" anyway?  I hate it, it's stupid and immature, and I'm too old for it.  And yet, I use it.  Why is that?)  We should be home within the month.  Talk to you soon!

                                                                                                -Helga

            He narrowed his eyes as he watched her, wishing that he hadn't forgotten his sunglasses in his room.  He could go get them, but that might draw attention, or she might leave while he was gone.  Better to endure without them, and just continue pretending to be engrossed in his book.

            Her pale golden hair tumbled about her shoulders as she frowned down at the computer screen.  Oh, yes, all of the accounts were absolutely true.  She was beautiful.  Something about her face held a defiant bravery so little seen in anyone today, especially Americans.  But she had it—that look of a heroine, somehow ingrained in the tapestry of her subtlest expressions.

            He watched as she paused in her typing and pursed her lips in thought.  Her eyes scanned the screen, her fingers hovered above the keys…then with a decisive movement, she clicked the mouse with evident satisfaction.  A few more clicks, and she closed the laptop with an archaic grace.  He made ready to follow her if she left, but she merely picked up a book and began to read, brow furrowed against the sunlight.

Time passed.  Beads of condensation slid slowly down the sides of his glass.  The town's few inhabitants passed in the streets, talking and laughing.  Still she sat, reading, and he sat, watching her.  He grew anxious.  Surely this must look suspicious, him just sitting there, leafing through a newspaper he'd finished long ago?

Slowly another sensation grew on him—insidiously at first, then gradually more powerfully.  He cursed it, knowing that he couldn't succumb to the weaknesses of the flesh, knowing that he shouldn't let his eyes leave her for longer than an instant, but the fact was undeniable.

He _really_ had to pee.

Swearing fluently under his breath, he stood up as unobtrusively as possible and made his way into the inn.  The man behind the desk directed him to the bathroom, and he walked down the narrow, dark hall alone, enjoying the feeling of being out of the sun for a few minutes.  The hall seemed a kind of cool, murky paradise to eyes that were still not adjusted to the semi-gloom.

He reached the bathroom, placed a hand on the doorknob.

The hair on the back of his neck stood inexplicably on end.

Then he whirled, just in time to avoid a crushing blow to the back of his head.  He caught it on the shoulder instead, driving him down to one knee.  Quickly he was up, ignoring the pain as his kneecap creaked and groaned.  He might never walk properly again.

He backed away, into another form as thick and unmovable as a tree trunk.  How many were there?  He couldn't see in the half-light, and they were constantly moving, as silently as cats…  He ducked under enveloping arms and tried to slip away, but he was caught around the shoulders and held fast.  He felt cloth coming over his mouth, muffling him; he tried to struggle, but it was like fighting granite.

There was a flash of a match.  A strange pipe was being lit, then the match was snuffed out.  A familiar but unplaceable aroma filled his nostrils.  He wrinkled his nose, trying to get away from the strong, cloying smell.

Then a face loomed close, lit by the glow from the pipe and ringed by lavender smoke; a face that he had never seen before in person, though he knew it well from years of terror.  It was the face of the Devil, they said.  He had never believed it before.  Now…now he knew.

"You will take a message for me," the Devil said in a low, cool voice.  It was not a question.

The rag was removed.  He was quaking, but he managed to spit out his reply.

"I will die first!" he said bravely, trying not to lose control of his bladder.

"Yes," the Devil said.  There was no emotion in the voice.  It wasn't human, _couldn't_ be human.  "You will."

The rag was shoved back into his mouth.  A silver blade moved like lightning.  Dark blood welled up at his throat, and another, larger rag was brought to catch the blood before a drop hit the solid oaken floors.  The Devil considered his pipe gravely, in no hurry though any of the townspeople—or the girl herself—might walk in at any moment.

"Dispose of the body," he said finally.  "The head and the hands send to him.  He will know that wherever he sends his men, wherever he follows her too, we will be there."  He paused.  "I do not like this American boy's intent.  He does not know what he seeks—not yet.  But I will act as _I_ see fit…and the girl is to be left out of it."

His men, knowing that he was not talking to them, carried the body down the hall as silently as they had come.  The Devil stood alone in the semi-dark, watching the patterns the smoke from his pipe made in air.

"Yes, the girl is to be left out of it…for now."

And out in the sunlight, Helga read, unaware of the multiple pairs of eyes that still watched her every move.

DropsofJupiter: You went to _four_ concerts?  Arrgh!  I'm so jealous…I've been to two.  And they were both Black and Blue, which was the worst tour/album/endeavor/concept/everything _ever._  Oh, and a Johnny No-Name.  That was fun.  And a press conference…where I met Brian!  Yay!  (Yes, I am a loser.)  Yeah, Arnold definitely has buff veiny arms and six-minute abs and buns of steel and all that good stuff.  His shirt rips off like the Incredible Hulk and everything…  It's okay.  You're supposed to like Logan and hate Anna.  That means it worked!

Sailor Sponge: Shooting is too good for Mr. Homework Inventor, lol.

Vicky: Wow.  Um…wow.  You have no idea how much comments like yours mean to me.  I can't thank you enough.  I love writing for and about Helga…I've always felt a very strong sort of kinship with her, so that always helps.  And I don't know if I've read your story (I'm so awful at putting authors' names to story titles) but I'm sure it's not nearly as bad as you make it out to be.  You should never compare yourself to anyone—God, if I did that, I'd never have started.  I nearly gave up writing altogether after I read _The Princess Bride_.  But I write for me now, and for you guys.

Everyone else, thanks so much!  (BTW, if I don't respond specifically to your review, it doesn't mean that I don't love you and appreciate your review…it's just that my neck and shoulders hurt and I just want to post this and go pass out.  So yeah.)

Question!  I sort of half-remember a songfic to "Cruel to be Kind" in this section, but I'm not sure if I made that up or not…these are the delusions my brain comes up with.  So if anyone knows if that actually exists, can you let me know the title or the author of that?  Thanks!

As always, I am PI, saying, "Okay, I love you, bye-bye!"*

*Cookies for everyone who recognizes that.  Or this: "If the toupee fits, you must acquit!"

   [1]: mailto:phjohanssen@ecolab.com
   [2]: mailto:poetesspataki@cbworld.com



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